


no one wake me (i just wanna stay in bed)

by distira



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-17
Updated: 2011-07-17
Packaged: 2017-10-21 21:26:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/230023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/distira/pseuds/distira
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>from <a href="http://footballkink2.livejournal.com/2971.html?thread=585883#t585883">this prompt</a> at <span><a href="http://footballkink2.livejournal.com/profile"><img/></a><a href="http://footballkink2.livejournal.com/"><b>footballkink2</b></a></span>; college au, iker is sick and thiago takes care of him.<br/>4,677 words<br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	no one wake me (i just wanna stay in bed)

Iker's roommate, David, gets up at five in the morning to catch a flight home for the break. Iker can tell that he tried not to make too much noise, he didn't even turn the light on, but he still wakes Iker up. Iker squeezes his eyes shut and burrows further into his comforters. He isn't sure if he can breathe properly or not.

He stays in bed as long as possible, but eventually he has to pee, so he hauls himself up and hunts around the room for a good five minutes looking for clothes. Eventually he finds a pair of jeans that doesn't smell and a hoodie that might be David's, because it's draped over David's chair, but David isn't here to miss it, so Iker puts it on anyway before he stumbles across the hall to the bathroom.

He wants to crawl back into bed when he gets back, partly because everyone's whiteboard says "Happy Thanksgiving!" and the guy who lives across the hall from him even made a paper hand turkey, and Iker doesn't really want to deal with other people being happily off campus. The break is only a long weekend, really, and Iker felt bad making his parents pay for a flight home, instead choosing to just stay on campus.

"There'll be other people here," he'd told his mom on the phone. "Seriously, it'll be fine."

But there aren't any other people on his hall. He thinks there might be a few of his teammates left around, and he figures he'll text them later to see what they're doing for dinner because he really doesn't want to eat Thanksgiving dinner in the dining hall, but if worst comes to worst, David left the gaming console set up in the room.

Iker ends up only ducking back into the room to put a pair of shoes on and grab his wallet, and then he heads for Starbucks with his laptop. Maybe smelling pumpkin spice lattes will make his head pound a little less.

It's colder outside than he'd realized. Iker still isn't used to cold weather, doesn't even have a winter coat. Last year, he'd mostly gotten by skipping classes when it dipped below freezing and wearing two hoodies, a fleece, and a windbreaker, but it's only November and there are already snow forecasts floating around, so he figures he might have to spend his next paycheck on a down jacket or something. Maybe one of those North Faces.

Starbucks is blessedly warm, and Iker slides into a seat and basks in the terrible Christmas music playing over the speakers.

"Hey, dude," someone says, kicking the leg Iker has propped up on the table in front of the couch.

"The fuck," Iker grunts, not opening his eyes. His head might explode if he does.

"Didn't know you were around for the weekend," the person says, and then Iker feels the couch dip under someone else's weight. He opens his left eye a tiny bit. When his head doesn't explode, he opens it all the way. Thiago's sitting next to him, holding both hands around what looks suspiciously like a pumpkin spice latte.

"Didn't know you were here either," Iker says, eyeing the latte. "Thought you'd go home, chill with your bro."

"Wanted to," Thiago says, and Iker feels bad for bringing it up. He's never met Thiago's brother, not officially, but they're following each other on Twitter, and Thiago talks about Rafa enough that Iker feels like he knows him. "Too far to go just for a weekend, though."

"I feel that," Iker says. He's still zeroed in on the latte, and he does a happy dance inside his head when Thiago holds it out in offering.

"Want some?" Thiago asks, and Iker nods, makes grabby hands.

"Mmmmm," he says, licking his lips and reluctantly handing the cup back to Thiago.

"So, what're you doing for dinner?" Thiago asks conversationally, and Iker freezes. He has to physically stop himself from wrinkling his nose and frowning.

"Oh, meeting a friend," he bullshits, waving a hand around a little. "Gonna do dinner at his place."

He's not, of course; he's working the afternoon shift at the gym, not that anyone's going to come to the campus gym on Thanksgiving afternoon, but it's a paycheck, and Iker really can't turn down a paycheck. He doesn't want Thiago to think that he's a loser with no plans, though. He's spent most of the semester trying to make Thiago like him and think he's cool enough to hang out with, and that would undo everything.

"Oh, cool," Thiago says, and they don't bring it up again.

The gym is, predictably, empty. The janitor finishes his rounds halfway through Iker's shift, and Iker has his head down on the desk, drooling a little bit. Eventually, he picks himself up.

"Not getting paid to sleep," he says to himself. His headache is getting worse. He jiggles the mouse of the desktop and it sputters to life, the whirring sound making Iker want to claw his ears off. He opens iTunes and starts clicking around people's shared playlists. There are usually around twenty at any given time, but there are only four up right now, probably because everyone else is home. Iker sighs and clicks on 'Leo's Playlist'. It's a weird mix of music, some Beach Boys, some pump up music, some El Canto del Loco. Iker puts it on shuffle.

He's not getting paid to climb up onto the desk and start dancing, either, but he finds himself doing anyway when a Pitbull song comes onto the playlist, a jarring change from _God Only Knows_. He raps along to the empty gym, dancing ridiculously on top of the desk, threatening to topple the computer, and he's finally having a good time, finally not thinking about how he could be home eating a truly disgusting amount of food and watching the game with his dad, when he turns towards the door, mid-verse, and there's Thiago.

Iker stops shimmying and purses his lips. Thiago looks like he's trying not to laugh, and Iker starts mentally beating himself up. This definitely undoes a semester of trying to make Thiago think he's cool. He'll have to start from ground zero when team practices start again. He'll have to youtube cool tricks and learn them so he can show off.

"Thought you were going to dinner," Thiago says, swiping his ID card and coming to lean on the desk. Iker thinks about climbing back down, but then he figures that the height advantage he currently has might be a good thing.

"Plans fell through," he says airily. "What about you?"

"Never had plans," Thiago shrugs. "Figured I'd get a lift in while nobody else was hogging the machines."

"Yeah, cool," Iker says, mentally kicking himself even harder. That's not such a good idea, though, because it makes the headache that had miraculously disappeared while he shimmied to Pitbull come back with a vengeance. Iker contorts his face a little in an effort to make it hurt less. It doesn't work, and Thiago tilts his head at him, looking worried. Well, shit, Iker thinks. Thiago probably thinks he looks like a circus freak now.

"Wanna come?" Thiago offers, and Iker is surprised, because he'd been anticipating Thiago pointing him in the direction of the nearest mental hospital.

"Yeah, I guess," he says, trying to sound casual. He carefully relaxes his face and then starts to climb down from the desk. "Uh, I should prolly stay here, though."

"Dude, who else is going to come in here now?" Thiago asks. "Everyone else is home or stuffing their faces, come on. We can get Chinese after and watch the game."

Iker really, really can't say no to that, so he says yes instead.

Watching Thiago lift is kind of boring. Or so Iker tells himself, but it's really not, because Thiago's wearing a shirt with the sleeves cut out and really big armholes so if Iker tilts his head just right, he can see Thiago's entire abdomen, which is nice. He tries not to look too creepy, though, and only lets himself look once every five minutes.

"Not gonna pump any iron?" Thiago asks, and Iker starts to protest that he's taking a few days off when he sees Thiago's eyes twinkling, realizes that he's joking. He's glad, because his head still hurts and his arms feel like noodles, and he'd probably only be able to lift the bar and that would be pathetic. Thiago's illusion of Iker as a cool, awesome guy is probably shattered to pieces by now, but Iker still has his reputation as a good athlete to uphold.

"Let's call it a day, then," Thiago says, finishing his last set. "Chinese?"

"Yes," Iker says enthusiastically. "Most definitely."

"Cool, your place or mine?"

"Uh, whatever," Iker says, hoping Thiago doesn't end up coming to his room, because Iker hasn't cleaned in ages and there's a high likelihood of the weird smell that permeates the place coming from three week old Ramen he left in the fridge. He hadn't thought that Ramen could go bad, but apparently he was wrong. He's a little afraid to open the fridge and see what it had turned into.

"We can go to mine, there's a TV lounge down the hall," Thiago offers, and Iker smiles past his headache.

"Baller," he says, and they head out into the cold.

The hoodie really isn't enough anymore. It's windy and cloudy and Iker is shivering within a few minutes. It also turns out that Thiago lives really fucking far away from the gym, practically on south campus, and even with his hands jammed into his pockets and his shoulders hunched up, Iker wants to bolt for the nearest building before they're halfway there.

"What do you want," Thiago asks, holding his hand over the phone.

"A blanket," Iker says instantly. Thiago looks at him quizzically, and Iker realizes he's talking about Chinese food. "Uh, fried rice? And lo mein," he says. "Please."

"Sure," Thiago says, and says something into the phone. Iker tunes it out, choosing to spend his energy trying not to let his fingers and toes freeze and fall off.

The delivery comes before halftime and Thiago gets up to pay the delivery man. Iker fumbles for his wallet but Thiago waves him off. "My treat," he says, pulling out a twenty, and Iker puts his wallet away without arguing. Not spending money is okay with him.

"Here," Thiago says, handing Iker a container of soup after he demolishes the fried rice. "Hot and sour soup."

Iker tilts his head and raises his eyebrows. "You looked cold, earlier," Thiago shrugs. "My mom always gave this to me and Rafa when we were getting a cold or something, so."

Iker smiles and clutches the soup to his chest. It's warm and spicy, and it makes his nose run when he starts eating it. Thiago passes him a box of tissues.

Turns out that they're both routing for the same team, and when halftime rolls around, they're winning. Iker crows victoriously, containers of Chinese food scattered around the TV lounge in Thiago's building, and it doesn't even matter that everyone's whiteboards even in this building say "Happy Thanksgiving, see you Sunday!" because he's hanging out with Thiago, something he's been trying to do since last year, and he's more relaxed than he's been in ages, because he's not distracted trying to be cool. Thiago's seen him dancing to Pitbull; Iker figures his chances are totally shot to hell. It's kind of sad, because Iker's had a crush on Thiago forever, but it's also a relief. He figures now he can go for the cute kid in his Econ class.

"Hey," Thiago says, and Iker turns to him. Thiago's awfully close. "Thanks for coming over," he says quietly.

"No, man, thanks for having me," Iker says, trying not to let his eyes drop too obviously to Thiago's lips. So much for being over his crush.

"I'm glad you're here," Thiago says. "It sucks to be alone on the holidays."

"Yeah," Iker breathes, and before he can say anything else, Thiago's lips are brushing against his, just gently, but Iker freezes because he's daydreamed about this for over a year and he's kind of in shock. Thiago's lips are chapped and dry, but soft at the same time. He pulls back after a second.

"Sorry," he says, and Iker frowns before he realized that he's just sat there like a frozen idiot.

"No, hey, come back," he demands, reaching forward and pulling Thiago towards him by the shoulder, smashing their lips together again. He opens his mouth a little this time and Thiago reads it as an invitation, licks his way in and they're kissing now, really kissing, and Iker forgets to be embarrassed that he has a runny nose and Thiago saw him _dancing to Pitbull_ because Thiago's tongue in his mouth is really, really good.

Iker pushes Thiago's chest and Thiago backs off. "No," Iker grunts, eyes half lidded, "just move- there, like that," he says, pushing Thiago back against the arm of the couch and clambering on top of him. "Better," he says, slotting their lips together, and he can feel Thiago's hips working in tiny circles so he grinds down, his cock half hard for the tiny noises Thiago's making in the back of his throat, and he gets the rest of the way there pretty quickly when Thiago starts grinding back against him.

"Come on, like this," Thiago says, pulling apart and biting Iker's neck gently. He gets Iker's fly open and shoves his hand unceremoniously into Iker's boxers, and Iker's going to make fun of him but then Thiago's hand is wrapped around his dick and he suddenly can't think of what he was going to say. He decides to attack Thiago's belt buckle instead, which is kind of difficult because Thiago is really good at jerking him off, but he manages it eventually, opens Thiago's belt buckle and shoves his pants halfway down his thighs and lines up their cocks, wraps both of their hands around them. His head drops to Thiago's shoulder.

"Good?" Thiago asks, and Iker smiles into Thiago's neck because Thiago's not compliment fishing, he can tell, he's just asking.

"Yeah," Iker breathes. "Yeah, I could, just like this, I could," he says, because he always talks too much, during.

"Me too," Thiago says, so it's okay, and Iker lets himself go, spilling all over both of their hands and Thiago's stomach.

Iker wakes up on Friday morning and wants to die, so he rolls over and goes back to sleep for another few hours. Everything hurts and his limbs feel heavy and his head is actually going to explode today from all the pressure in his sinuses. He considers going online and making a countdown for it, but that would mean rolling over to grab his laptop and that's too much effort.

When he wakes up the second time, he peeks out the window, and there are about three inches of snow on the ground.

He has Thiago's number from the team contact sheet, so Iker fumbles around under his pillow for his phone and presses 'call' before he can stop himself.

"Hey," he croaks when Thiago answers. "Snow!" His throat hurts, too. Fuck.

"Yeah, man, just like every year," Thiago says. He laughs a little, though. "Hey, are you doing okay? You don't sounds so good."

"I'm awesome," Iker answers, trying not to sound like he'd swallowed a frog. Or a handful of broken glass. "Meet me outside?"

"Sure," Thiago says, and Iker feels happy in the pit of his stomach, despite wanting to die. "Why?"

"We're having a snowball fight," Iker declares, "and I am going to beat your ass so hard."

They do have a snowball fight, but Iker loses when Thiago gets him square in the face. He sputters and shakes his head like a dog. He's wearing a hoodie and a fleece today but nothing is waterproof and he also doesn't have mittens. It's cold. He uses the last ounce of his energy and tackles Thiago into the snow, mashes a handful into Thiago's face.

"I totally won," Thiago says, and then he smiles and kisses Iker, just gently, and Iker thinks, I could get used to this. Thinks, I'll let you win every time if you keep kissing me.

They make plans to meet for dinner, because apparently Thiago's roommate had left a ton of food in their fridge and Thiago didn't want it to go bad, so Iker goes back to his room and sleeps for most of the afternoon. He actually turns the video game console on and gets halfway through loading Halo 3 first, but then the room goes swimmy and he sneezes five times in a row and then he can't breathe properly through his nose anymore, so he flops over and falls asleep with one arm tangled in the video game controller.

He wakes up around six and he can't breathe. His nose is completely clogged and his throat feels like someone scraped the inside of it out, which is gross but totally how he feels. He sneezes when he tries to sit up, and that makes pain blossom behind his eyes and his throat hurts even more and he wants to claw his face off. He rolls over and falls asleep with his mouth open.

An hour or so later, Iker half-wakes up because his phone rings, but by the time he gets oriented enough to try and answer it, the ringing has stopped, so he flops around on the bed for a minute and tries to bury himself in the comforters until he falls asleep again. He's pretty sure he might be dying. He'd always wanted to die in a cool way, like by shark attack, or by getting sucked into a black hole. He feels briefly disappointed that he's going to die from something as lame as being sick. He wakes himself up with a coughing fit and feels like his lungs are going to come out of his mouth, so he decides he has Martian Death Flu, which is actually kind of a cool way to die. He wonders who the Martian who gave it to him is.

His phone is ringing again the next time he wakes up, and it must be late because it's pitch black. His cell phone is glowing in the dark so he picks it up and answers without looking at caller ID.

"Mmfgh," he croaks. Talking makes his throat hurt even more. Iker begins to silently pray for death. Death, he thinks, would be better than this. Any minute now.

"Hey, are you okay?" It's Thiago. He sounds concerned. That's nice, Iker thinks distantly. Kind of unfair that he only got to have Thiago right before he died. And that they only had sex once, and they didn't even _have sex_ , because grinding against each other on the couch totally didn't count.

"It's a shame," Iker grunts, but it comes out more like "Mmfgh gmfh uuuh," which is probably a good thing, because he's having a hard time following his own train of thought. He couldn't possibly put Thiago through that.

"I'm coming over," Thiago says. "You should've said you were sick, idiot."

He hangs up before Iker can grunt anything again, which is probably a blessing. Iker lets the phone slip from his near-lifeless hand and goes back to praying for death. He wonders if it'll be like in Greek mythology. What was the river called? And the guy with the chariot. Iker would totally be bros with the guy with the chariot.

The door to Iker's room locks itself automatically, so Iker has to drag himself out of bed when Thiago starts banging on it. He wraps himself up in the comforter and staggers the five feet from his bed to the door, possibly taking out everything on David's desk with the comforter. Collateral damage.

"You," Thiago says when Iker finally remembers how to open the door, "look like shit."

"Why were you banging," Iker grumbles.

"I wasn't sure if you'd wake up," Thiago says. "Jesus, have you ever cleaned in here?"

"A few months ago," Iker says. Now is not the time to worry about his cleanliness. He's going to die soon. He wants to fuck Thiago before he dies. And he wants Thiago to fuck him, too. He hopes they have time for both.

He collapses on the bed again, but to his disappointment, Thiago does not climb on top of him and take his pants off. Instead, Thiago grabs David's desk chair, sits down, and starts pulling things out of a plastic bag looped around his wrist. There's Nyquil and Dayquil, a six pack of Ramen, possibly canned chicken soup but Iker doesn't want to get his hopes up, a box of tissues, some Gatorade, and five bags of cough drops. Then he goes for the second bag, which is from the Chinese place. Two large containers of soup. Iker hopes it's hot and sour soup. He figures it's the closest possible thing to a nuclear bomb for his face.

"Where's your fridge," Thiago mumbles. Iker points. He tries to warn Thiago not to open it, but Thiago doesn't listen. Iker presses his face into the pillow to avoid the stench. "Oh my god, you're disgusting," Thiago says, mostly to himself, but Iker hears it and sighs to himself. Thiago probably won't fuck him if he thinks he's disgusting.

He dozes while Thiago cleans out the fridge, and he tries to say thank you a few times, but his mouth is too dry and his throat hurts too much. It's okay, though, because he's content to just watch Thiago while he dies. Thiago's nice to watch. Iker wonders if Thiago will come for him like Orpheus and that chick. Probably not, though, because Thiago thinks he's disgusting. He's impressed with himself for remembering so much from his Classics class he took last semester.

Eventually, the bed dips and Iker forces his eyes open again. "Drink," Thiago commands, holding out a bottle of Gatorade, and Iker makes a T-Rex arm, poking only his hand out of the cocoon of blankets he made. He takes the bottle but he can't pick his head up enough to swallow, so Thiago maneuvers himself so that Iker's head is propped up against his shoulder.

"I can do it myself," Iker protests, but it doesn't come out as real words, just garbled syllables. Thiago ignores him and guides the Gatorade to his lips.

"Take this, too," he says, handing Iker a Nyquil pill that looks like the size of his tongue and how the fuck is he supposed to swallow that? He clamps his mouth shut, not wanting to find out how much trying to force that down would make his throat hurt. "Come on," Thiago insists, but Iker shakes his head and doesn't open his mouth. "Dude, I will fight you," Thiago says. "You're sick, I'll totally win. I'd win anyway, but it's guaranteed right now, don't mess." When Iker still doesn't open his mouth, Thiago rolls his eyes. "Don't say I didn't warn you," he says, and reaches up to hold Iker's nose shut.

He can't breathe, not that that's very different from his usual state of being now. He figures, death will come more quickly this way.

His body disagrees, though, and he only holds out for a few seconds before he opens his mouth to gasp for air. Thiago forces the Nyquil pill into his mouth and puts the Gatorade to his lips before Iker can spit it back out.

"It'll take like ten minutes to work," Thiago tells him. Iker can't talk, because there's possibly an angry cat trying to claw its way out of his body via his throat. He glares, instead. "Don't give me that," Thiago says. "I brought you soup. Which you will eat when you wake up." He picks up the video game controllers and turns on the console, tipping himself back in David's chair. Before Iker can muster up the strength to protest Thiago playing without him, the Nyquil kicks in and he passes out.

There's a comfortable, solid warmth pressed against Iker when he wakes up. There's light struggling to get in through the blinds, so he figures it must be morning. He feels about thirty percent better, which means that if he really puts effort into it, he can breathe through his nose, and his head is only pounding like there's a dwarf army trying to tunnel through it, not a dragon flying around breathing fire. He's sweating.

"Awake?" The comfortable, solid warmth asks, and Iker looks around for a few seconds before he realizes that it's Thiago.

"Yeah," Iker answers, and he's reasonably sure it comes out as a recognizable syllable because Thiago smiles. Iker reaches across the bed for the video game controllers.

"No," Thiago says, smacking his hand. "You can drink Gatorade and eat soup and watch Netflix, that's it."

"Fuck that," Iker croaks. It's a healthier croak than before. "You held my nose and made me swallow pills, it's only fair."

"What's only fair?" Thiago asks, confused.

"That I get to kill you in Halo," Iker explains.

"We're going shopping for a winter coat for you once you can walk in a straight line," Thiago informs Iker, who's halfway through scarfing down a container of hot and sour soup. The pepper flakes still make him want to rip out his throat, but his nose is dripping steadily now, relieving the pressure in his face, which is nice.

"Why?" Iker says through a mouthful of tofu and weird Chinese mushrooms.

"Because you're seriously gross when you're sick," Thiago says. "It's kind of upsetting because I want to kiss you but not when you're all snotty and you haven't brushed your teeth in two days."

Iker dives across the bed for a box of tissues and starts frantically blowing his nose. He almost tips over the container of soup, but Thiago steadies it.

"Where's my toothbrush?" Iker asks. "Give me my toothbrush, I need to go brush my teeth."

"Sit down," Thiago says, grunting with the effort of grabbing Iker around the waist and hauling him back onto the bed. Iker, to his surprise, does not mind being manhandled by Thiago. He lies back against the pillows and tries to look alluring, but ends up coughing eight or nine times, which he figures ruins the effect. "We can make out later. Like when you're better."

Iker considers. Making out and possibly (probably?) fucking when he's not on the brink of death is pretty appealing. "Okay," he says. "Fine. Wait, that means you're still gonna be here when I'm better?"

"Yeah, man, you're stuck with me," Thiago laughs. "If that's cool."

"It's cool," Iker assures him. He pulls the comforter back over his body and snuggles down into Thiago's side, pressing his nose against Thiago's ribcage. "Totally cool. The coolest. Like Antarctica."

"Does that make you a penguin?" Thiago laughs.

"Sure," Iker says. He sighs, his eyelids feeling heavy. He still has to breathe with his mouth slightly open; he hopes he doesn't drool on Thiago. Although at this point Thiago's probably seen him do grosser and more embarrassing things. Also, Thiago promised to still be around when he's better. Life is good. "I have a tux in there." He points vaguely in the direction of the closet and then drops his arm, retracting it underneath the comforter.

"You'll have to wear it for me sometime," Thiago says. "Gotta see how you clean up."

"Only if you promise to take it off me," Iker mumbles, most of the way asleep.

"Couldn't stop me," Thiago promises. Iker smiles.

And if he drools on Thiago's shirt- well. That just gives him an exuse to take Thiago's shirt off when he wakes up.  



End file.
